The Only Way Around Is Through.

Let Him That Is Without Stone Among You Cast The First Thing He Can Lay His Hands On.

My Sorrow, When She's Here With Me, Thinks These Dark Days Of Autumn Rain Are Beautiful As Days Can Be; She Loves The Bare, The Withered Tree; She Walks The Sodden Pasture Lane.

One Could Do Worse Than Be A Swinger Of Birches.

It Was Far In The Sameness Of The Wood; I Was Running With Joy On The Demon's Trail, Though I Knew What I Hunted Was No True God.

It's God - I Recognised Him From Blake's Picture.